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<title>"Do you wanna die alone?- by TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856845">"Do you wanna die alone?-</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain/pseuds/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain'>TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Depression, M/M, Post-War</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:40:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25856845</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain/pseuds/TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Or watch it all burn down together?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>  <i>I said I'd rather try to hold on to you forever.</i></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>160</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>"Do you wanna die alone?-</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Started writing this when I was in a kind of bad place and then I finished it in a panic gfkhjsghkjgsfhkjs SO THERE IS NO WINNING HERE.</p>
<p>Title and Summary taken from Die Alone by FINNEAS</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Immediately, it sits with Harry funny.</p>
<p>There is screaming and cheering and crying in the air, and an ache he feels bone-deep.</p>
<p>But none of that, them, this, <em>matters.</em></p>
<p>Because it’s over, it’s gone. And that sits with Harry funny. Almost like it’s beside him, almost like the sinking of a sofa cushion. His body feels like it’s leaning just a <em>bit.</em> Everything is slightly <em>crooked</em>.</p>
<p>He drops to his knees and laughs.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s done, it’s gone, it happens, and people stare.</p>
<p>That’s nothing unusual, Harry is used to that, but these stares are heavier.</p>
<p>They mean <em>more.</em></p>
<p><em>They </em>want<em> more</em>.</p>
<p>It’s exhausting.</p>
<p>And Harry does nothing but stare back. He stares through the trials and the interviews and the handshakes and commendations.</p>
<p>He stares through the funerals.</p>
<p>He stares and tries to breathe through the frustration. The urge to get up, fling his arms out wide and scream,</p>
<p>
  <em>‘What </em>
  <b>
    <em>more</em>
  </b>
  <em> do you want from me?!’</em>
</p>
<p>So he stops going out.</p><hr/>
<p>Hermione presses her hand to his forehead.</p>
<p>She’s too close to that itch he hasn’t been able to scratch, but he doesn’t mention it. Even when the pressure only builds the longer she keeps her hold.</p>
<p>“Have you been eating? You look a little thin…”</p>
<p>“Have you?” Harry asks. It’s more accusatory than he intends.</p>
<p>She sighs and <em>finally</em> removes her hand, “My appetite has been a bit- well…<em>You</em> understand.”</p>
<p>He does.</p>
<p>She sits in the armchair across from him, gathering her legs to her chest. She’s never looked so small.</p>
<p>“Still, we should eat something. Anything. You’ve been hauled up in this dreary old place alone for too long.”</p>
<p>He wants to tell her she can’t possibly know that. Not when she’d taken to squirrelling herself away as well<em>. Not when he hadn’t seen her since: screaming and cheering and crying–</em></p>
<p>Her voice pitches abruptly. Hermione tries too hard to be cheerful, “What’s your favourite Muggle food? I could go for a pizza right about now, but maybe we could order a bunch of things! Like a buffet! And-”</p>
<p>“What do you think my soul looks like now?” Harry cuts her off quietly and winces when her breath catches. Though they’ve been over this a million times.</p>
<p>When he blinks,<em> he sees stars and hears static and tastes bitter words and feels the cold of metal pressing against–</em></p>
<p>Her mouth hangs open, not in disbelief or shock, but at a loss for what to say. She snaps it shut and frowns.</p>
<p>“Harry. You did what you had to do. It was a war.”</p>
<p>His hand twitches, “That’s not an answer.”</p>
<p>It never was.</p>
<p>She nervously gathers her hair while silence stretches, she ties it off into a bun, and her hands drop with a dull <em>'thud’ </em>onto her chair arms, stray strands fall loose.</p>
<p>“Your soul looks as good as mine,” she says. Her words hollow and defeated.</p>
<p>Harry stays quiet.</p>
<p>But his mind screams,</p>
<p>
  <em>'It doesn’t.’</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>He ignores the owls and the fire calls and the patronuses.</p>
<p>Most days, he feels lifeless. Listless.</p>
<p>He does nothing.</p>
<p>The feeling that he was once <em>something</em> consumes him. It takes all of his energy and leaves him tired, worn, sluggish.</p>
<p>Harry barely leaves his bed.</p><hr/>
<p>It’s in the silence of his dreams where Harry feels less-</p>
<p>Funny.</p>
<p>He feels less exhausted and more alive, more of that <em>something</em>.</p>
<p>In the blank space of his dreams— It’s back.</p>
<p><em>It’s back.</em> It Returns. Maybe even It has never been gone?</p>
<p>There are hands around his throat, but they are familiar, almost comforting.</p>
<p>A cold strained hold. The temptation to squeeze until he bruises, <em>until fingers dig into Harry’s skin, through his skin, and rip—</em> felt in every minor shake. The grip is rigid to the point of tremors.</p>
<p>It wants, and It wants. But It does not take.</p>
<p>Harry wishes It would.</p><hr/>
<p>Years pass and dream hands become day whispers.</p>
<p>They are harsh, cutting, threatening. And when it deigns to be quiet, the silence is oppressive.</p>
<p>Harry is twitchy, less vigilant and more <em>paranoid</em>.</p>
<p>And yet, he can’t help but be relieved because for the love of Merlin, at least he feels <em>something</em>.</p>
<p>A tangible wakeful something. Not a misty bleary-eyed memory of something.</p>
<p>So he listens.</p><hr/>
<p>Things escalate to the point where Harry <em>should</em> have been concerned ages ago, but he <em>can’t</em> bring himself to care.</p>
<p>There’s a figure in the corner of his eyes.</p>
<p>He’s unable to look at it dead-on, so he’s taken to staring at an empty expanse of wall most hours of the day. The less in his field of view, the better he can make out the smudged silhouette.</p>
<p>It likes to lean against nothing and cross It’s arms as It watches Harry. Not that Harry can make out features like eyes, but there is a sensation that bores into the side of his face- which couldn’t be anything else.</p>
<p>It stays ten or so feet away and does not talk nearly as much as It did before gaining a form. It’s contemplative now, the silence.</p>
<p>Harry almost misses the sound of It’s voice.</p><hr/>
<p>Part of Harry knows.</p>
<p>More time passes. So he knows, but he doesn’t want to say it or think it.</p>
<p>Especially when It gains a more apparent visage, voice, and has taken to standing uncomfortably close to Harry.</p>
<p>At all times.</p>
<p>Even now as Harry finds the energy to skim bookbindings in the Black Family Library, an icy cold breath tickles the nape of his neck.</p>
<p>It reminds him of hands.</p>
<p>He feels his body go lax, and a stable presence is there to hold his weight.</p><hr/>
<p>Harry’s walking on walls.</p>
<p>Or he must be, with how sideways everything has gone.</p>
<p>He swallows down the urge to scream, but his reply still comes out a horse and wrecked, “<em>What?</em>”</p>
<p>“You’re going to die, Harry Potter.” The voice is smooth, melodic like the hum of Harry’s wards or the warmth in the pit of his stomach after a bite of chocolate.</p>
<p>There’s more, more to It’s tone. More to the look in It’s eyes, to the tension of It’s lips. So much <em>more</em> Harry ignores.</p>
<p>He walks away.</p>
<p>It follows.</p><hr/>
<p>A gentle weight caresses his body; Harry’s eyes flutter open.</p>
<p>It hovers beside him, adjusting a blanket over Harry’s form. He doesn’t remember falling asleep on this settee and when he looks closer Harry’s certain he never owned one quite like this, but he doesn’t dare think about that much longer.</p>
<p><em>Doesn’t dare remember how his own magic is acting up. How his own magic is almost unusable, unstable. How </em>It<em> can now do magic near flawlessly.</em></p>
<p>Harry is more awake than he can recall being in the past few days, weeks, <em>months,</em> when he says, “Leave me alone.”</p>
<p>Hands tucking him in pause, It’s head turns, and all Harry can see is red. He burrows his face in the padded cushioning.</p>
<p>Then that voice<em> like wards and chocolate and sunlight in the back garden </em>says, “Potter, you are going to die.” It speaks with strained discomfort. Harry thinks it’s more at being caught playing house than at finally being addressed.</p>
<p>He snubs the idea of It showing strained <em>concern</em>.</p>
<p>Harry’s reply is muffled, “I’m sure you’re over the moon then. Congratulations, maybe it’ll stick this time.” The words are meant to bite, to tear apart and consume, but Harry lost the ability to inflect years ago.</p>
<p>
  <em>Right around the time It gained the ability.</em>
</p>
<p>It’s hand tugs a strand of Harry’s hair, “Reply to the letters or the fire calls.”</p>
<p>Harry’s arms lift him upright and the blanket bunches at his hips, it’s a burst of energy he doesn’t expect and can’t maintain, but it’s too late for that now. The settee is unnecessarily low, and his neck stretches uncomfortably to look It in the eyes.</p>
<p>
  <em>“Eat shit.”</em>
</p><hr/>
<p>“You’re. <em>Dying</em>.” There is no hiding from that sharp tone now, less like <em>wards and chocolate and sunlight</em> and more like <em>hissing and the tug of a portkey and Avada Ka-</em></p>
<p>“I don’t care.” Harry barely has the energy to respond these days; his voice shallow and breaths short. Legillemincy works just as well, but It refuses to make anything easy for Harry. </p>
<p>As always.</p>
<p>It frowns, “Don’t be ridiculous. Get help.”</p>
<p>Harry mumbles It’s words back at It and a rare smile ticks at the corner of Harry’s face when he watches It roll It’s eyes.</p>
<p>Odd that Harry can still feel something like <em>fondness</em> after all this time.</p><hr/>
<p>Harry is tired,</p>
<p>“You know what I am, who I am. You know what I’m doing to you.”</p>
<p>and itchy,</p>
<p>“Potter.”</p>
<p>empty,</p>
<p>“<em>Harry</em>.”</p>
<p>
  <em>drained.</em>
</p>
<p>Fingers snap centimetres from his face, “Stop that and listen to me. My research isn’t getting me anywhere; you <em>need</em> to ask for help-”</p>
<p>Harry grabs It’s hand, and already his grip wanes, already his vision fades, already he’s going numb, “Then stop taking forever-” He gasps for breath, <em>“and kill me already.”</em></p>
<p>Harry faints.</p><hr/>
<p>Harry goes out of his way to find It because suddenly there is <em>silence</em>.</p>
<p>Silence.</p>
<p>Harry is not afraid; this silence gives him something he hasn’t felt in <em>years</em>.</p>
<p>So Harry holds onto the walls and stumbles his way towards the magnetic pull he never truly escapes. He pushes open the library door and grasp its knob as he gives up and falls to his knees.</p>
<p>When Harry looks up, world swaying-or maybe <em>Harry</em> is swaying, and catches red eyes bent over another book, he almost has it in him to laugh.</p>
<p>It’s eyes are frantic and wide, expression horrified and skin sickly pale. This is the most undone Harry has ever seen It. And Harry thought <em>he</em> was the one dying.</p>
<p>Harry does have it in him to smile at that.</p>
<p>At that and the <em>hope</em>.</p>
<p>Hope that his next rest will be his last.</p>
<p>Hope that the steady trickle he feels will finally sap its fill.</p>
<p>Hope as his body collapses from his own weight-</p>
<p>Hope as his hearing hums in and out-</p>
<p>Hope as hands shake his prone form, as a voice yells-</p>
<p>
  <em>Hope that this-</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <b>“I don’t want you to die for me, Harry-”</b>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Tom Riddle will inspire meaningful change.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Find me on Tumblr (I live here): <a href="https://tomarryherewewhoaagain.tumblr.com/">@TomarryHereWeWhoaAgain</a><br/>Or join me on our new 16+ Tomarrymort Discord: <a href="https://discord.gg/2suak9y">The Room of Requirement</a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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